Comfort
by DARKSOMEONE41
Summary: Bozer doesn't know exactly when it started, but when he starts losing weight, he knows it's a problem. The question is, does he tell Mac or does he keep it from him? No, Mac has enough to deal with already. He doesn't need this.


**Title:** _Comfort_

 **Genre:** _Friendship/Hurt/Comfort_

 **Rating:** _T_

 **Characters:** _Angus MacGyver, Wilt Bozer_

 **Summary:** _Bozer doesn't know exactly when it started, but when he starts losing weight, he knows it's a problem. The question is, does he tell Mac or does he keep it from him? No, Mac has enough to deal with already. He doesn't need this._

 **Pairings:** _None_

 **Warnings:** _Depression, anorexia, mentions of anxiety, PTSD, vomiting, swearing_

 **Word Count:** _9,955 words, 20 pages on Google Docs_

 **Author's Note:** _I realize this is a bit...rushed. And I apologize for that. This is an idea that hit me and I wanted it out. Therefore, I'm not sure if I did it the justice it deserved, but I might be willing to give it another shot eventually, should people want it. This is set between seasons 1 and 2. There might also be a sequel, but I'm not sure. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy!_

xxxxxxx

 _Ah. Shit._

Another five pounds. It was driving him mad.

Bozer stepped off the scale and ran his hand over his face. This was ridiculous. He needed to fix this now. It wasn't supposed to get this bad.

Bozer honestly couldn't remember clearly how this had even started. He remembered something about almost losing Mac _again_ on a mission. That in and of itself was stressful. Then, he couldn't help those feelings of being pushed aside that he had had since Mac returned home from Afghanistan with Jack in tow. When push came to shove, Bozer found himself plagued with anxiety, turning his stomach to knots and losing his appetite.

One night, when the team was on a mission without him and he was home alone, Bozer had had a dizzy spell, one that had him nauseous and on the floor. He'd had a pounding headache, and his mouth was dry. Thinking back, he had gone days without eating. He drove his ass to the hospital immediately, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't a good idea, given his condition at the time. They had sat him down for a while, attached an IV, asked him questions, and ended up diagnosing him with anorexia nervosa.

Well, that had been unexpected.

It was strange. Bozer never really thought too deeply about himself. Did he hate himself? Was he not happy?

It was all way too confusing, way too stressful, and way too terrifying.

Mac didn't know - thank God, he didn't know - and Bozer wasn't planning on telling him. Knowing him, the blonde would probably flip his shit, and Bozer wasn't exactly ready to deal with that kind of attention. He just wanted to figure this out and move on.

His doctor had recommended therapy, and Bozer, despite not liking it, had agreed. Despite having a broad idea, Bozer wasn't exactly sure where his problem was stemming from and that could be the only way to find a solution. Bozer knew he had to tell to Matty. Likely, she would either fire him or set him up with a therapist in the Foundation to keep a tight lid on things and not risk an outside source.

Bozer took a deep breath and left the bathroom. Mac was gone again. He was due back tomorrow night. That left him enough time to talk to Matty and set plans with his new psychologist.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

xxxxxxx

Bozer really dragged out his commute to Phoenix. Normally, he would arrive a bit before he was supposed to come in - being on time was late to him - but, today, he walked through the doors almost a minute before he was considered tardy.

Matty noticed.

She immediately came out of the war room, an upset look on her face. "The one time I need you in, Bozer, you decided to come late?"

Bozer pointed to the analog clock above the secretary's desk. "I'm on time, though. I just normally come in early."

"You know what I meant."

Bozer held back a sigh. Was the stress from pleasing Matty the reason why he was losing weight? "Right. Sorry, Matty. What did you need me for?"

"Jill needs you down in the lab. Says she needs help with one of the machines or something."

Bozer furrowed his eyebrows. "Jill? Doesn't she usually get here at ten or something? Why is she in the lab?"

Matty glared at him impatiently. "I don't know, Bozer. Maybe you should go find out."

"Right. Right, sorry." Bozer turned on his heels and began to walk away before stopping and turning back again. "Hey, Matty?"

The Director turned back from her walk to the war room and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Bozer rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Um, can I talk to you later? It's kinda important."

Matty frowned in concern. "Sure. Is it something that needs to be taken care of now?"

Bozer shook his head. "No, it can wait."

"Alright. Meet me once you're done helping Jill."

Bozer nodded. "Okay. See you, Matty." He turned once again and headed for the lab, contemplating taking forever to avoid the ensuing conversation.

xxxxxxx

It had been way too easy. Helping out Jill took no time at all, and it almost seemed as though he had spoken to Matty just seconds ago, which he probably had if he was being honest.

"Hey, Jill. I gotta meet with Matty right now. Will you be okay on your own?" Bozer asked.

The blonde looked up. "Yeah, I should be fine. Thanks, Bozer."

"No problem," he replied as he began walking towards the exit. "Be back soon."

"Good luck!" She replied jokingly.

Bozer snorted in response. _I'm gonna need it._

He exited the lab and began his trek to the war room, where Matty was most likely keeping an eye on Mac and the others.

As he took his time climbing each stair, he began to think, and it was never good when he had this much time to himself. He was plagued with thoughts of " _What will I say? How will she take it? What's going to happen? What if she tells the team? What if she kicks me_ _off_ _the team? What if she tells Mac?"_

God, his life sucked sometimes.

Bozer was so deep in his own worries that he hadn't even realized he had reached the war room until he nearly ran into the closed door. Thankfully, the windows were frosted so Matty didn't see his humiliating near-accident.

 _Deep breaths, Bozer. Deep breaths. The worst she can do is fire you. While that will suck, you can always find another job. You like cooking. Drop movie-making and become a chef. That'd be cool._ Bozer snorted to himself. _An anorexic chef. What a freaking contradiction. If that doesn't sum up my life, I don't know what does._

Bozer took a deep breath. _In...and out…._ He needed to be calm. Someone needed to rein in their feelings, and it definitely wasn't going to be Matty. The woman would probably lose her shit over this.

With one last deep breath, Bozer pushed open the door, knocking as he entered. Matty turned from her position in the middle of the war room, looking away from the map on the screens. A blinking light showed where Mac, Riley, and Jack were located in Rwanda.

She gestured him inside before saying, "Comms are off for now. It's just you and I."

Bozer nodded silently, shutting the door behind him. Matty motioned him to sit on the couch in front of her and he complied, searching for the best way to break the news to her.

"So?" She started, giving him a frown and raised eyebrow. She crossed her arms. "What did you need to talk about?"

Bozer let out a soft sigh. "I…" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "God, I really don't know how to tell you this."

Matty's frown deepened and furrowed her eyebrows. "What are you talking about? Just start from the beginning."

Bozer dipped his head. "Right. The beginning." He bit his cheek before continuing, "Well, the thing is, I don't know when it started _exactly_ , but it was about a month ago. I was stressed out, especially after the siege on Phoenix." He hesitated. He didn't like remembering it much. The pain, the worry, the _fear_. Matty understood and gave him time, but she didn't wipe off the worried look that was beginning to don her face.

"I had stopped eating. I don't why I did, but I had. By the time I had gotten out of whatever mood I was in, I had lost five pounds in a week. Just by not eating. It didn't alarm me, though. I didn't pay any mind and continued to avoid food at all costs, only eating when I absolutely, positively had to. Even then, it was always something small."

Bozer swallowed thickly. "I think the team was in China when it happened. I was home alone when I became dizzy and collapsed to the floor. When I felt well enough, I took to the hospital." Bozer looked downwards and licked his lips. "They diagnosed me with anorexia and told me I should consider consulting with a therapist." Bozer warily glanced into Matty's eyes, only to be met with worry, trepidation, and surprise. "I thought it would be best to tell you first. You know, before I take my next steps."

There was silence for a moment as Matty tried to wrap her head around the bombshell that was just dropped on her. Bozer could see her shock turn more into concern before settling on neutral. She was clearly all business. The sympathies would probably come later.

She cleared her throat. "You did the right thing, Bozer," she began, her voice slightly shaky. "Telling me. That was the best thing to do. We both know I wouldn't have reacted well to being the last one to know." Bozer let out a hesitant and watery laugh.

She progressed, "And telling me was a good move because I can set you up with a therapist here at the Foundation. You can get all the help you need here without the confidentiality barriers you'd face at other therapists. I'll set you up with Doctor Redding. He used to be a military counselor before specializing in patients suffering from PTSD. Now he works for us. He'd be the best for you."

Bozer frowned. Had she not heard right? "PTSD? Matty, I have anorexia, not post-traumatic stress."

His boss snorted, giving him an appraising look. "I know. But where do you think the anorexia stemmed from? You've been through things, Bozer. _Traumatic_ things. You need help with coping. This will be that time."

Bozer nodded in understanding. "Okay," he relented. "I'll meet with Doctor Redding."

Matty dipped her head approvingly. "I'll set up an appointment with him for you tomorrow." Bozer murmured his thanks. "Did you tell Mac yet?"

Bozer's head shot up, eyes wide. "No!"

Matty's eyebrows nearly reached her hairline at his outburst.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he apologized, an attempt to recover. He sighed and placed his head in his hands, giving himself a few seconds before continuing in a softer voice. "No, I didn't tell him. I don't want to, either."

Matty sent him a questioning look. "Isn't he your best friend, practically your _brother?_ And your roommate?"

Bozer tilted his head. "Well, yeah, but...I don't want to worry him. If I can fix it by myself, then there's no need to concern him. ... _Right?"_

Matty furrowed her eyebrows. "Bozer, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I work with Jack Dalton."

Bozer dropped his head, defeated yet unwilling to say anything else.

Matty rolled her eyes. "Listen, I'll respect your wishes in not telling Mac." Bozer lifted his head and opened his mouth to thank her, but she raised her hand, silencing him. "That doesn't mean I agree with it. Not telling Mac is right up there with not telling me. It won't end well. You say that your issue can be fixed, as if it's the most easiest thing in the world. It's not. This will probably be one of the hardest things you'll have to do. Any therapist will say that you should set up a support system. Mac _should be_ your support system."

Bozer bit the inside of his cheek, waving a hand in weak dismissal. "He already has enough to deal with. He doesn't need this too."

Matty sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. _You_ , the one who firmly believes in being open with people you care about!"

Bozer narrowed his eyes at the accusation. "That's _different_. I don't have baggage like Mac does. I can handle shouldering his problems, too, but the kid's been through enough. He doesn't need this!"

Matty scowled. "If Mac was here, he'd tell you that he's not a ' _kid'_ anymore. He's a grown man who genuinely _cares_ about you."

"I'm not telling him, Matty." Bozer fixed on Matty's face with an unfaltering expression, declaring to his _boss_ that his word was final, that this was his decision and he would take any consequence that came along with it.

Matty held his gaze for a few moments, hoping inwardly that she could somehow get him to change his mind, even though she knew she couldn't. Bozer was set in his conviction, believing that this was the right choice, no matter how much she knew and tried to tell him that this would not end well.

The standoff was interrupted by a beeping noise, signalling that the team was reporting in. With a quiet huff, Matty took a step back, but she didn't withdraw her glare.

"I will set up the meeting with Doctor Redding as soon as possible," she stated, starting to turn back to the screen. She shook her head softly. Matty gave him a withering glance as she continued. "Listen, I will support you and your recovery as much as I can, but I can't say I support your methods. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Bozer nodded curtly, softening his hardened expression. "Thank you, Matty."

She gave him a nod in response before answering the call, reverting her full attention back to the map. "What have you got?" She commanded, the "all-business" tone back in her stern voice.

Bozer barely heard the response as he exited the war room, heart hammering in his chest as he closed the door behind him.

 _That went...surprisingly better than expected. Still not that great but...I'll take it._

It was when he was walking out the door to go home when he received the text from Matty:

 _Tomorrow. First thing in the morning. The team is due back tonight. Cook something, and not just for Mac._

With a sigh, he slipped the phone into his pocket and wandered to his car. Something told him this was going to be way harder than he had originally anticipated.

xxxxxxx

The team had arrived late at night, around ten but closer to eleven. Bozer had just finished cleaning the dishes from the night before, considering if he should listen to Matty and eat dinner. He knew he should, especially if he wanted to recover from his supposed eating disorder, but he didn't feel hungry. It was an odd thing. His stomach was growling - _loudly_ \- but he wasn't _hungry_.

He shook his head. _This is stupid. I don't have an eating disorder. I just don't have an appetite. I don't_ _need_ _to see Doctor Redding tomorrow. I'm okay._

Bozer was just about to put dinner away in the fridge for Mac to warm up when he got home, but just as he moved to do so, the door knob began to jiggle with the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, and he paused in his motions, instead turning to retrieve a plate and utensils. Mac walked in the door alone as Bozer loaded his plate with food.

"Hey, you're still up," Mac greeted, dropping his keys into a bowl on the counter as he walked towards his friend.

"Hey. I was just about to head to bed," Bozer replied, pushing over the plate of lasagna.

"Ah. Well, good night."

Bozer shook his head, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. "Nah. I'll keep you company." He needed someone to keep his mind off of tomorrow.

Mac frowned, sitting on a stool across the counter from Bozer. "You sure? It's late, and we have work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I can handle a late night," he replied, rolling his eyes a bit.

Mac chuckled, stabbing at the lasagna with a fork. "Alright. If you say so."

"How was Rwanda?" Bozer asked, moving to the fridge to fetch a couple water bottles. It was too late in the work night for beers.

Mac shrugged. "It was alright. Probably won't be going for vacation considering the amount of times I almost got shot at, but it had the potential to be a nice place."

Bozer laughed. "Mac, if we based our vacations off of places you _haven't_ been shot at in, we couldn't even vacation here in America."

Mac rolled his eyes, but he had a grin on his face. "That's so not true."

"Yes, it is. Don't lie."

Mac shook his head. "Whatever. How was work today?"

 _Ah. Shit._

Bozer sighed. "Had to help Jill in the lab first thing this morning. Talked to Matty for a bit. Spent the rest of the day doing paperwork. A whole load of fun."

"Ha. Yeah. Sounds like a blast."

"It was the wildest day I've had in a long time."

Mac snorted. "What do you have to do tomorrow?"

Bozer thought for a moment under the guise of remembering when he was actually trying to think of a lie. "Well, I have an appointment first thing in the morning. And then...paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork."

"An appointment? For what?" Mac asked, a concerned look on his face.

Bozer gave a small shrug. "I got a little sick while you guys were away. Matty wanted me to get checked out."

If Mac didn't look concerned before, he did now. He set his fork down and gave Bozer his full attention. "Sick? How sick?"

Bozer waved a hand to dismiss his concern. "It wasn't horrible, Mac. Relax."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Bozer paused and looked at his friend closely. Mac was serious and his frown clearly displayed his worry. Bozer wasn't sure how much he should lie to him, so he just chose to downplay his detailing without raising too much suspicion. "It was a cold, Mac. Nothing big, nothing that kept me from working. I was fine."

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Matty wouldn't just have you get checked out for a _cold_ , Bozer, so either you're downplaying it, _a lot_ , or you're flat-out lying to me."

 _Listen, Mac, I'm winging this as I go along, okay? Help a brother out and don't call me out on my bullshit this quick._

Bozer raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, there's been a bug going around the Foundation these past few days. Matty just wants to make sure I don't get it either."

"You don't _sound_ sick."

Bozer rolled his eyes. "It's just a bad cough. Nothing more. Does that appease you, Sherlock?"

Mac was quiet for a moment, eyeing his friend up and down warily. For some reason Bozer couldn't fathom, Mac didn't seem keen on letting it go, but he did, albeit hesitantly. "Okay. If you say so. But if it gets worse," he added quickly before Bozer could interrupt. "You tell me. Got it?"

Bozer's mouth went dry. "Yeah. Of course." His smile was paper thin.

Mac nodded, satisfied with the answer, and he resumed eating the rest of his dinner. Bozer didn't have much to say after that, so they just stayed in each other's comfortable presence.

Except it wasn't comfortable to Bozer, not when he was lying to his best friend.

xxxxxxx

Tomorrow came quicker than he wanted it to. Before he knew it, he and Mac were carpooling to work, a companionable silence between the two of them. Bozer's mind, however, was not nearly as peaceful as an outsider may believe. He was scared, nervous. He felt anxiety gnawing at the pit of his stomach...or maybe that was his hunger. He had gotten a strange look from Mac when he didn't eat breakfast with him that morning, but Bozer just brushed it off, saying he wasn't hungry and that he'd eat at work later.

Matty was going to _kill_ him.

But he couldn't help it. His appetite wasn't returning. It was a constant feeling in his stomach where he felt nothing at all. He didn't feel hungry, but he didn't feel full. It was this state of neutrality to the point where it seemed as though food wasn't a factor to his life at all. The mere thought of eating made him feel sick. He wasn't starving, and he felt that if he ate, he'd throw up, unable to keep it down or have any room for it, despite that fact that he _knew_ he was empty. He was concerned for himself. How long could a person go without eating? Why was he doing this? He was conscious of the fact that he should be eating, at least _trying_ to, but he couldn't. He _wouldn't_. Maybe Doctor Redding would clear the air for him.

"How are you feeling?" Mac asked as he turned onto the highway. On a normal day, Bozer would have driven, but he didn't want to risk a dizzy spell while at the wheel of the car, especially if Mac was in the passenger seat. He had continued to use the lie that he had a cold to persuade Mac into driving, but it hadn't registered when he had been pulled out of his thoughts.

Instead, Bozer shot him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Your cold, Boze. How are you feeling?"

"Oh...I'm fine. Just tired." It was true. He was exhausted. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, tossing and turning, overthinking the position he had put himself in with Mac and the fast-approaching session with Doctor Redding. Not only that, but he was sure the lack of energy he would normally get from the food he ate was also a factor.

"Do you think you should have come to work today?"

Bozer snorted. "Mac. It's just a _cold_. You're getting worried over nothing. Besides, I have to meet with the doctor as soon as we get to the Foundation. He'll tell me if I should go home or not."

"I'll come with you."

"No!" His quick response startled Mac, who almost swerved the car. He was met by alarmed eyes. He tried to calm himself down. "No, Mac, it's okay. Really. I'm good."

"And it warranted _that_ response?" Mac scoffed, his expression bewildered.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing!"

"That wasn't a big deal just now?"

The two continued to bicker as Mac pulled into a parking space by the Phoenix Foundation. Bozer felt himself getting annoyed. He knew Mac was only trying to look out for him, that he was worried, but it was making life that much harder for Bozer. He hated lying to Mac, hated jeopardizing their friendship this way, but he was set in his resolve that Mac didn't need this. He didn't need to deal with Bozer's issues; he had enough of his own. Besides, it was pathetic. What could Bozer possibly be stressed about? The siege on Phoenix was done and over with. He had recovered. Mac had been in situations worse than his, and a lot more often, too. So why was Bozer complaining? There had to be something else, something deeper. He needed to figure this out, but he couldn't if Mac was riding his ass about it.

"Mac, _stop_ ," Bozer sighed as they approached the doors to the Foundation. The two of them paused and Mac looked at him cautiously. The worry had never left the blonde's eyes. "I'm good. _Honestly_. It's a cold, Mac. Nothing more, nothing less. If the doctor says anything is wrong, that I should go home or that I need to stay in the medbay, I'll let you know. I promise."

Mac took a moment to respond, averting his gaze for a moment before turning back to his best friend. "You've been off lately, Boze. Are you _sure_ there's nothing else you need to tell me?"

 _Anything I_ _need_ _to tell you? Probably. I should probably mention the fact that I haven't eaten in three days, but I can't. I just can't._

"Nothing," Bozer lied, a small smile to go with it.

Mac nodded silently - Bozer wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing - and opened the doors to the Foundation, holding the door open for Bozer. As soon as they walked in, Matty stalked over to them. She pointed at Mac.

"You, AAR. Now." She turned to Bozer, hesitating for a second. Bozer held his breath. He probably should have let her in on the lie. Luckily, Matty decided to become vague. "Appointment. Go."

"Yes, ma'am," Bozer replied, giving a mock salute. He gave a playful wink to Mac before heading down the hall and towards Doctor Redding's office.

All he had gotten from Mac was a slight grin, and he tried not to think so hard about the fact that Mac was still hung up on their past few arguments. Instead, he just shook his head lightly and continued to where he thought Doctor Redding was. He headed to the medbay, deciding to ask a medic on where he should go. Before he could, however, a raven-haired male, that stood at maybe five-foot-ten, exited an office a couple doors down from the medbay. He looked up from the clipboard in his hands.

"Can I help you?" He asked politely with a smile. His voice was a bit husky, and he had his glasses perched on his hair. The guy was probably in his thirties, but Bozer got an extremely relaxed vibe from him.

Bozer gave a smile in return. "I'm looking for Doctor Redding."

The man looked surprised for a second before widening his smile and asking, "Are you Wilt Bozer?"

Bozer furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes…?" He paused. "You're Doctor Redding, aren't you?"

The man chuckled and held out his hand, which Bozer took to shake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Doctor Taylor Redding. I was actually on my way to come find you."

Bozer froze. _That would have been so bad._ He forced a smile, but a look in Doctor Redding's eyes let him know that the older man had caught the hesitation.

"Come," he continued. "Let's go into my office."

The two entered, and Bozer felt himself subconsciously relax at the atmosphere. The office was small, but it was covered in neutral colors, like beige walls and brown curtains over the windows. A round mahogany table sat on top of a grey carpet and just in front of an off-white couch. Across from the couch was a large mahogany desk with various knickknacks and a laptop situated on it. A wooden bookshelf from behind the desk displayed several theses and books. Doctor Redding gestured for Bozer to sit down on the couch, and he complied as Doctor Redding sat in a large, black swivel chair behind the desk. The door had been closed. Now it was just the two of them.

"So," Doctor Redding began. "I just want to get to know you first. Tell me a little about yourself and why you think you're here."

Bozer let out a small breath and chuckled. _Well, this is gonna be interesting._

"Um, well, my name's Wilt Bozer, but people just call me Bozer. I work here as a lab tech, and I'm best friends with one of the agents here, dated all the way back to our childhood." He paused. "And I guess I'm here because…" He took a deep breath. "Um, last week, I collapsed in my home. I had forgotten to eat for a few days and it had caught up with me. When I got to the hospital, they ran a couple tests, asked me a few questions, and suggested that I see a therapist…" He met Doctor Redding's unwavering and non-judgmental eyes with his own unsure ones. "For anorexia."

At this, Doctor Redding frowned. "They already gave you a diagnosis without a therapy session?"

"Yeah," Bozer shrugged.

"Did they have you sit down for a one-on-one with a psychiatrist in their hospital?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Doctor Redding blew out a breath of slight frustration. "You said you haven't been eating, correct?"

Bozer nodded, unsure of where Doctor Redding was going with this line of questioning. "Yes."

He watched the doctor scribble something down on the notepad in front of him. "And is this a conscious choice or…?"

"What do you mean?"

Doctor Redding hummed in thought. He folded his hands together with the pen pointing out to the side between his fingers. He rested his chin on his hands, making eye contact with Bozer. "Have you willingly avoided food? Is there a reason as to why you won't eat, such as a method of thinking or a physical barrier?"

Bozer rubbed the back of his neck. "I have just completely lost my appetite. I don't feel hungry even though I know I haven't eaten in days."

Doctor Redding's mouth pulled down slightly in a frown. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Three days ago," Bozer replied softly, almost feeling disappointed in himself for saying it, as if he failed Doctor Redding, despite the fact that they had just met.

It was clear that Doctor Redding didn't like the answer if his concerned expression was enough to go by. "And are you feeling hungry in any way, shape, or form?"

"No."

"If I offered you a snack, would you actively try to avoid it?"

Bozer knew the correct answer would be to say 'no', but it wouldn't be true. He didn't want food. He didn't feel like having it. It made him feel nauseous to even think about eating something. So, he decided to answer truthfully, "Yes, I would."

Doctor Redding leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. His pen tapped lightly against the notepad, making a soft thumping sound. "Have you been under stress recently?"

Bozer's hands began to shake as he answered. "I was attacked not too long ago. There was a siege on Phoenix. I was stabbed." He could remember most of it. How Mac had tried to stay by his side, his friend's scared and worried face engraved in his mind. The searing pain in his abdomen that almost numbed when he felt his vision blacking out. How he tried to warn people about the fake Dr. Zito, only to have to crawl to set the sprinklers off himself. How he could have _died_.

At this, Doctor Redding leaned forward again. "Was this your first traumatic experience?"

Bozer shook his head. "No. Months before, an assassin broke into my home to find my roommate, the agent I'm friends with. He held a gun to my head and held me hostage until he came home."

"Can you give me a name to this friend?" Bozer hesitated. Picking up on this, Doctor Redding was quick to soothe. "I don't need his whole name, just a nickname. And you don't need to worry. Everything you say here is confidential between me and you. None of this will reach him, unless you want it to."

"No," Bozer jumped in, quick to put an end to that thinking. Doctor Redding raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I don't want him to know any of this."

"Okay," Doctor Redding agreed. "He'll hear none of it from me."

Bozer, still on edge, took a deep breath and answered, "Mac. His name his Mac."

Given the slightly stunned expression on Doctor Redding's face, Bozer figured the doctor knew _exactly_ who Bozer was talking about - Mac was pretty well-known in the Foundation - but the look was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Doctor Redding nodded. "Right. Does Mac know about how these events have impacted you emotionally?"

"I think he has suspicions. It wasn't easy for me to brush off. He was with me after the assassin broke into our home, noticed that I'm still on edge about being home alone or walking into an empty house. I tried to hide how I felt about the siege on Phoenix, but I don't how far that has gotten."

Doctor Redding began taking notes again. "Why would you try to hide this from him? Isn't he your best friend?"

Bozer suddenly found his hands a lot more interesting, even though there was no judgment coming from Doctor Redding. "Mac has had a...rough life. I've always been the one who helps him through it, you know? I don't want him to worry about this, too. It's not fair."

Doctor Redding raised his eyes to meet Bozer's again. "And what about you? Is this fair to you?"

Bozer shook his head. "It's not always about me."

Doctor Redding sat straighter in his chair, hand writing down notes but gaze still locked on Bozer. "It doesn't sound like it's been about you. It sounds like it's been about Mac."

Bozer shook his head again. "You don't understand. Mac does all the hard stuff. All I have to do is make sure he has nothing to worry about when he's home."

Doctor Redding tilted his head to the side slightly. "That sounds like a lot of added stress to you."

"It's not...At least, it shouldn't be."

"But is it?" Bozer didn't respond. Doctor Redding folded his hands again and rested them on the table, leaning forward a bit. "Answer me this, Bozer, do you feel as though your problems pale in comparison to Mac's?"

"Yes," Bozer responded lowly. "But that's because they _do_."

"Do they?" It was rhetorical. "You're not eating, and you stress over trying to make everything perfect for your best friend. Does this not take a toll on you?"

Bozer swallowed thickly, taking some time for himself to think and collect his thoughts. "Sometimes...sometimes, my chest hurts and I can't breathe. Sometimes I shake and I can't bring myself to function, even though I _know_ I have stuff to do. And thinking about the things that I have to do makes me feel worse. It's a never-ending cycle."

Doctor Redding pursed his lips. "We shrinks call that anxiety. It's a feeling of worry and existential dread that overcomes a person, distorts their thoughts and controls them with unease and apprehension. It's likely caused by high levels of stress, which you have been placed under."

Bozer let out a shaky breath. "So is that it? I have anxiety?"

Doctor Redding sighed. "I'm not diagnosing you just yet - there are still a few things I want to run through with you first - but that looks like where this is heading." He paused. "I'm also not saying that you have anorexia, but I'm not saying you don't, either."

Bozer licked his lips nervously, nodding his head. He understood that Doctor Redding wasn't jumping to conclusions - and he was grateful for that - but it still unnerved him that the possibility of _two_ conditions rather than one may be plaguing him.

Doctor Redding took a deep breath. "Bozer, these next few questions are going to be some hardballs, okay? But we can stop at any time and you can take as long as you need to. Understand?"

Bozer nodded shakily. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it," he whispered.

Doctor Redding nodded in acknowledgement. "In the past couple of weeks, how many days have you felt down, hopeless, or upset? None, several, more than half, almost all, or every day?"

Bozer felt his throat becoming choked up. He knew where this was going. "More than half."

"Have you ever thought about dying?"

Bozer lost all air in his lungs. "Occasionally."

"Describe 'occasionally'."

"Once or twice in the past couple of weeks."

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Less than four hours a night."

"Have you noticed a lack of energy in yourself?"

"Yes. Almost every day."

"Do you prefer to stay at home rather than do exciting things?"

"Yes. Several days."

Doctor Redding, who had been taking notes throughout the questionnaire, set his pen down gently on the notepad and locked eyes with his distraught patient. "One more question, and this one may sound unorthodox, but I need your honest answer. Are you unhappy with yourself physically, mentally, socially, or otherwise?"

Bozer hesitated. "Yes. All of the above."

Doctor Redding nodded, a neutral expression settling on his face. "Okay. Are you allergic to anything, any medications?"

Bozer shook his head. "No. Not that I'm aware of."

"I'm not prescribing anything yet, but it might be needed in the future," Doctor Redding explained softly. The " _just in case"_ wasn't said.

Bozer nodded. "I understand," he replied softly.

Doctor Redding gave a perceptive nod before saying, "Let's talk about some coping mechanisms you can use, as well as some possible solutions…"

xxxxxxx

As Bozer headed to the war room to discuss his session with Doctor Redding to Matty, he was approached by Mac, a worried look in his eyes. Bozer braced himself for the onslaught of questions, and he wasn't sure if he was emotionally stable enough to get through without breaking down. He plastered on the best smile he could, but he knew it was weak.

"Dude, what took so long? You were in there for over an hour!"

Bozer waved off Mac's concern. "Doctor was running a little late. But good news is, I'm okay. Nothing to worry about, just like I said." As he explained this to Mac, Matty had exited the war room and was watching the exchange. She caught Bozer's eye and she understood. Just by looking at him, she could tell the session had been rough.

Mac was about to open his mouth to retort, but Matty cut him off by ordering, "Bozer. War room. Now."

Bozer gave a sheepish look and a shrug to his friend before following his boss, internally grateful that she saved him from what could have been an emotional breakdown. As soon as he entered and closed the door, she frosted the windows to give them privacy. She turned to him as he set himself down nervously on the couch.

She looked him over carefully before starting off with, "Do you need a new therapist?"

Bozer shook his head immediately. "No, no. It's not that. Doctor Redding's great. I like him."

She eyed him warily. "Are you sure? It can take a few therapists until you find the right one. It doesn't have to be your first."

Again, Bozer shook his head. "It's not that," he responded quietly. He looked down at his hands, unable to face her.

"How did it go?"

Bozer drew in a sharp breath. "About as well as you could imagine. We got into the nitty-gritty faster than I thought we would, that's for sure." He let out a deep breath. "Um, he, uh, he didn't prescribe me anything, _yet_ , but he asked me a lot of questions, a lot of... _personal_ questions," he whispered, hoping she'd get the hint. Judging by the tense look on her face, she got it loud and clear. "He thinks the anorexia is real, but he also thinks it stems from anxiety, which stems from depression...which stems from PTSD."

Matty's eyes went wide and she let out a disbelieving scoff. "He diagnosed you with anorexia, anxiety, depression, _and_ PTSD?"

Bozer shook his head. "He said they aren't mutually exclusive. They're not separate disorders. It's a cause-and-effect relationship. Technically, I have PTSD, everything else is just kinda symptomatic." He sighed. "He thinks this has started from way back when I was child, building up until I joined Phoenix. You know about how Murdoc broke into our house, right? How I found out about Phoenix in the first place?"

Matty nodded in affirmation.

"He thinks that was the beginning of the breaking point. The siege on Phoenix drove it home."

She nodded slowly. "And you said he _didn't_ want to prescribe medication."

"Right. He said that I'm not a _risk_ ," Bozer answered, leaving out the implication, which Matty was sure to understand. "He wants to try simple methods first, wanting to avoid any unnecessary exposure to medications and side effects that could possibly worsen my condition."

Matty was silent for a moment. "I can't let you out into the field like this, Bozer."

He was quick to agree. "I don't expect you to. In fact, I would plead with you _not_ to. I don't want to be an unintentional risk to the team during a mission." He hesitated. "Actually, I would ask that you would assign me the grunt work in the lab, have Jill take over my job for the team when they need it. I don't want to be a risk in any way."

"I understand," she responded. "Consider it done." There was a tense silence before Matty continued, "Bozer, I have to ask. Did you eat last night like I told you to?"

Bozer closed his eyes and kept his head down. "No," he answered quietly.

"And how long has it been?" He could hear a slight tinge of anger in her voice.

"Three days."

"Bozer!" Matty snapped. For a moment, she had to restrain the urge to cuff him on the back of his head.

"I know, Matty." His voice cracked slightly at the end. "I _know_."

Matty drew in a deep breath. "Why?" She asked softly.

"I just _can't_ ," he whispered, sounding utterly miserable. "I don't have appetite, and I feel _sick_ at the thought of food. I want to eat, Matty, I do, I _really_ do, but I can't. I physically _can't_."

Matty sighed gently. "Could you try?"

Bozer just barely glanced at her, eyes red. "Matty-"

"Just try. I'll get a bucket just in case. I just want you to _try_."

Bozer hesitated. He didn't want to. He didn't want to get sick, to throw up. He didn't want to do that, especially in front of his boss, but she seemed okay with the possible outcome, and she really wanted him to try. He didn't want to disappoint her.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll try."

Matty wasted no time in leaving the war room, keeping the windows frosted and shutting the door behind her. The whole time she was gone, no one entered, and it left Bozer to his own thoughts. He didn't want to do this, and he regretted agreeing to it, but he didn't want to disappoint Matty more. The whole situation scared him. The idea of post-traumatic stress disorder, of depression. Hell, of anxiety and of anorexia. It all scared him. At the same time, though, he wanted to get better. He wanted to move past it. Doctor Redding had given him options; he just didn't know how to get started.

In seemingly no time at all, Matty had returned with a granola bar in her hands. Bozer had been laying down on the couch on his side and didn't realize she had company until a concerned blonde carrying a bucket showed up behind her. Bozer tried not to let his ire show.

"Matty, why…?" He didn't finish his question, only glaring at her.

"He was worried," she replied simply. "He asked what was wrong. I said you had lost your appetite. He came to make sure you were okay."

He wanted to yell, wanted to snap at her for practically telling Mac what was wrong with him, but he couldn't, not without making Mac more suspicious than he already was. And Mac was on the verge of setting Bozer in an interrogation room and going all 'Phoenix agent' on his ass.

Mac gently placed the bucket on the ground and took a step back, awkwardly lingering by Bozer's head, unsure of what to do. Matty offered up the granola bar, but Bozer merely stared at it, not making any move to take it from her.

"Bozer…" Mac started softly, but he was cut off by Matty.

"Take it."

Reluctantly, Bozer reached out and took it from her, but he didn't open it. He just continued to work up the courage to eat it. Well, not so much as eat as to throw up. He didn't want to. He didn't _want_ to.

"Bozer," Mac called gently. "What's going on with you?"

"He feels nauseous," Matty answered for him. "He doesn't want to risk it." Her eyes traveled from Mac to Bozer's distressed expression. "Especially in front of an audience."

"Dude, I'm not going to _judge_ you for it. If you can't eat it, you can't. We would just like you to try."

 _Mac, you don't understand_ , Bozer whined to himself. _It's so much harder than that._

"Bozer, you promised me you would," Matty reminded, though it was more of a scolding.

 _I know that. I know I did. But can I take it back? Don't make me do this._

"Don't make me open it for you."

"Matty, maybe we should-"

"Mac, trust me. He needs to eat this."

 _Wow. Not even the slightest bit of subtlety, huh, Matty?_

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

 _Oh, great. Thanks, Matty. You got him hyped up again._

Matty just ignored Mac and continued to glare at Bozer. " _Eat it_."

Bozer just stared at her with pleading eyes, but she showed no signs of breaking. There was the most modest bit of sympathy, but all that remained was a hardened resolve. He didn't like it, but Bozer knew there was no way he was winning this fight with her, so he slowly pushed himself up and ignored Mac's comments to "relax". He wasn't relaxed, and he wasn't going to, not until after this was over, and maybe not even then.

With shaking hands that he prayed Mac failed to notice, he tore open the granola bar. It would be the most he had eaten in the past couple of weeks. The last thing he had eaten was a few crackers three days ago. Even that had sucked and prompted him to go on another hunger strike.

 _I don't want it. I don't want it._

The scent of granola hit him like a tidal wave, and he had to suppress his nausea right there and then. This wasn't going to end well, and he knew it.

"All you have to do is take a small bite," Matty told him. He knew she wasn't trying to sound condescending, but she sounded really patronizing when she said it. So, Bozer took a small bite and swallowed it.

It took less than three seconds for him to regret it.

Before either Matty or Mac could react, Bozer was hunched over the bucket, vomiting out bits of granola and yellow bile. He felt his diaphragm contract and force out the little bit of food that resided in his stomach. He could feel Mac's hand on his back, the blonde sitting beside him, but, _hell_ , he couldn't focus on anything right now. He could feel his diaphragm spasming, but nothing came out. He coughed against the burning in his throat and wiped at his mouth with a napkin Matty had conjured out of nowhere, tossing it into the bucket. Exhausted, he listed to the side, right into an awaiting MacGyver. He was too tired to have the decency to be embarrassed.

Matty let out a soft breath. "Guess that answers that," she murmured, leaving to find a bottle of water for Bozer.

Mac waited until after she left to ask, "Bozer, I'm getting tired of asking. What's going on with you, man?" His arm was draped across his friend's shoulders, rubbing his thumb up and down Bozer's bicep, more for his comfort than Bozer's. "And don't tell me this is nothing, that this is a simple cold. There's something _wrong_ , Bozer. I like to think I've known you long enough to know at least that."

Bozer stayed silent.

"You said you went to the medbay to get checked out. How is it that you came back worse than when you went in?"

Bozer said nothing.

" _How, Bozer_?" Mac wasn't relenting this time, and Bozer could practically feel the anger and tension building up in Mac's chest.

"It's not for you to worry about," Bozer murmured.

The absolute, most _wrong_ thing Bozer could have said.

"Don't you _ever_ tell me what to worry about, Bozer! Not when it comes to you! Never to you! Don't _ever_ tell me that I shouldn't be concerned about your well-being!" Bozer could feel Mac's grip on his arm tighten in frustration. "You're my _best friend_ , Goddamnit. I'm past the point of being concerned. I'm terrified out of my damn mind! Do you know what's running through my head right now? All the things that could be happening to you right now, worsening just because you won't tell me? You've withdrawn into yourself, you're hiding things from me, you're quieter, you can't even hold a damn granola bar down. So many things are going through my head right now. Just tell me what it _is_."

Bozer hesitated. "I'm... _not_ okay."

Mac drew in a sharp breath. "I know, Boze," he replied, soft this time and no longer harsh. "I know."

"I just don't know the right way to tell you."

"There doesn't have to be a right and wrong way. You can just tell me."

"...I didn't go to see a doctor this morning. Not in the medbay, anyway." Mac's grip tightened even more. Bozer knew he already had a guess. "It was a therapist."

"Shit, Boze…"

Bozer closed his eyes, feeling them start to burn. "He doesn't know exactly what's wrong with me. At least, not yet."

"How many times have you seen him?"

"Just this morning."

Bozer heard Mac swallow thickly. He was glad he didn't have to see his face. "Does he have any idea?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"No."

"Bozer-"

" _No_. Not until we know for sure. Not until we _know_. When they're not just guesses anymore."

"Boze, you can't just pretend-"

"I'm _not_. I'm not, I just…" Bozer was aware he was shaking. "I just don't want to say it and then it not be true. To worry over something that might not even be right."

"He wouldn't just say something without being almost a hundred percent sure. _Bozer_."

"No."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"Then don't."

" _Excuse me_?"

"Don't. Don't help me. Focus on yourself."

"We just went _through this_ -"

"I mean it, Mac. You don't need this. Not on top of the shit you already deal with."

"Don't tell me you honestly think I'm just going to let you go through this alone."

"I'm asking you to."

"It's not happening."

"Mac-"

" _It's not happening, Bozer!_ " Mac snapped frustratedly. He took a deep breath before repeating, softer, "It's not happening."

Their argument was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Matty appeared in front of them, holding out a bottle of water for Bozer to take. Reluctantly, he took it. He knew that if he wasn't going to eat, he had to at least drink water. The human body could last longer without food than without water. He knew that much. He was sick, not stupid. Because of this, he twisted open the cap and complied with Mac's warnings to "drink slowly". Once he had consumed about a third of the bottle, Matty nodded, satisfied.

"That's good enough for now," she sighed. She wasn't disappointed in Bozer, not in the slightest, but she was disappointed in the lack of progress for the situation. She knew the urgency for Bozer to get better quick, before the health problems began settling in, but she knew it wouldn't be so easy. For that, she decided to take it easy on them.

"Guys, go home."

"What?" Bozer asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Bozer, look at yourself. You're exhausted and not feeling well. _Go home_. And take tomorrow off, too. Jack and Riley will take care of any remaining work you have to do, Mac, and I'll talk to Jill about yours, Bozer. For now, just rest."

Bozer opened his mouth to argue, but Mac interrupted him. "Thanks, Matty. I owe you one." He stood up, lifting Bozer to his feet as well, trying his best to ignore how Bozer swayed unsteadily. "Come on." With that, he gently took Bozer by the elbow and guided him out of the war room. Thankfully, they didn't run into any unforeseen obstacles and left the Foundation unbothered. There was a tense silence between the two friends, one that Bozer couldn't help but feel utterly responsible for. Then again, he knew it was his fault. Maybe if he just wasn't like this…

"Hey," Mac called quietly as they waited for the car to warm up. "Wanna tell me what you're thinking?"

Bozer swallowed thickly, choosing to stare out the windshield, rather than look at his best friend. "I'm sorry."

Mac sighed. "I just wish I knew what you were sorry for."

Bozer bit his lip. "I'm sorry that I'm acting this way, for scaring you, for worrying you."

"Jesus Christ, Boze...Is it that bad? Is what you're going through that _bad_?"

Bozer shifted uncomfortably. "I'd just feel like shit for saying it."

"You probably feel like shit right now already, so I don't see how that's going to change much."

"Mac-"

"Boze, seriously. Look at me." Bozer hesitantly turned his eyes towards Mac's solemn expression. "If you think I'm going to judge you, I'm _not_. After all you've done for me, after all these years, you really think you could disappoint me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"Damn it, Bozer." Mac huffed and looked out the windshield, trying to collect himself before he lost his temper again. He was silent for a little while. By the time he spoke again, Bozer had resumed staring outside. "You know I love you, right?" Bozer froze. "I know we don't say it, and when we do, we're joking, but I mean it, Boze. You're my brother. I've known you almost all of my life. You're out of your mind if you think I don't care about you." Mac paused, pursing his lips. "It's more stressful to not be there for you than actually doing so."

Mac turned to him, eyes suspiciously wet. "Bozer, what's going on?"

Bozer had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat before he could respond. "He thinks it really began after Murdoc showed up in our home." He could see Mac's grip on the steering wheel tighten at the mere mention of the assassin. "But he also thinks it has to do with the siege."

" _Shit_ ," Mac whispered. He was realizing it now. It all began to dawn on him, and he found himself calling himself stupid for not noticing sooner.

Bozer licked his lips. "He thinks I have PTSD, but that's not it."

Mac's jaw locked. "There's more?"

Bozer nodded. "He didn't diagnose them separately. He said they were most likely symptomatic."

"What's 'they'?"

"Depression, anxiety, and anorexia."

He could hear Mac audibly choke on his breath, eyes wide. " _Fuck_."

"Yeah."

" _Bozer_ …" Mac breathed out. "Why would you keep that from me? These are the things you most _definitely_ tell me."

"Because…" Bozer covered in his mouth with his hand, searching for the best way to phrase his answer. Ultimately, he came up with nothing, so he just blurted out, "Because it's nothing compared to the shit you go through."

Mac immediately let out a disbelieving laugh at that. "Holy _Hell_ , you did not just say that."

"Don't say it. You know it's true."

"It's _not_ ," Mac snapped, appalled at the fact that Bozer ever thought that. "Anyone who went what you went through wouldn't just get over it, Bozer. This may come as a shock to you, but I don't either." The last part was added sarcastically, but Bozer's faintly stunned expression had Mac scoffing.

"Oh, my God. You actually believed that. Holy shit." Mac covered his face with his hands. How was he going to fix this? He dropped his hands, head leaning against the headrest and staring at the ceiling of the car. "Boze, I thought you...I thought you _knew_ that."

Bozer hesitated. "I…" He couldn't think of an answer.

Mac took a shuddering deep breath before speaking again. "When I came from Afghanistan, I didn't know how to deal with it, with any of it. And it killed me to not be able to share it with you. But you were still _there_. Even as I screamed during the night, had flashbacks during the day. You were new to it all, and I knew I was scaring you, but you didn't _falter_. You stood there and you _took_ it. I remember you calling Jack for help once, _maybe_ twice, and that was only during your first time or when it got really bad. Otherwise, you just stood there, let me hit you, let me yell at you. You just took it like it was nothing. I wasn't okay, no matter how much I claimed that I was, and you knew that. You helped me come to terms with that. What was it you said? 'It's okay to be not okay; it's _not_ okay to not say anything about it.'

"And every time I come back from a mission, I'm _exhausted_ , I'm drained mentally and physically, and you get that. Almost every time I come home, you have food waiting for me, no matter the time, and I'll find you awake, waiting for me, making sure I get home safely. You talk to me, understanding that sometimes I don't want to talk about it, but knowing that I'll have to talk about it eventually. You're there. You're _always there_. I'm not okay, Bozer. I'm not perfect."

Mac took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from his rant. Bozer just sat in his seat, trembling from what he had heard. Deep down, Bozer remembered that, once upon a time, he knew that, but it got lost somewhere along the way. He thought Mac was done. He was wrong.

"When I came home that night, and I saw you, Murdoc right there, threatening to take you away forever, I-" Mac choked on his own breath and had to pause to collect himself. "I couldn't imagine it, Boze. I couldn't, and I was so damn frightened of it. Same with the siege. I had to...I had to see you, knife in you, bleeding out, _dying_ , and unable to do anything about it. I didn't understand it before, Bozer, but it was then...That was when I realized what it took for you to be with me all those nights, all those days. How much it must have hurt for you to watch me suffer and not being able to do anything about it. Some nights...Some nights I dream. I dream about what could have been, and it scares me. I can't imagine a life without you. I _can't_.

"So, of course I want to be there for you, Bozer. You're my best friend, and I _care_ about you. And this? This can't go on. The shutting people out, the _not eating_...It has to stop. And I know that sounds ridiculous coming from someone who closes themself off from everyone, but I'm trying, Boze. But you can't just not eat. You can't just starve yourself."

"You don't understand how badly I want to," Bozer whispered, eyes watering. He couldn't look over at his friend. He paused. "It's been _three days_. And I know I should feel hungry, _starving_ even, but I don't. I feel nothing. I'm not hungry, but I'm not full, and the thought of food revolts me. I don't know how to fix this."

With a trembling hand, Mac wrapped an arm around Bozer and pulled him in. Despite the awkward position because the middle console separating them, Bozer wrapped his own arm around Mac as well, and the two stayed like that for a moment, seeking comfort in each other.

"We'll figure it out, Bozer. I promise."


End file.
